


one without the other

by ottermo



Series: As Prompted [62]
Category: Humans (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-18 02:51:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14203443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ottermo/pseuds/ottermo
Summary: Fred is back, and he’s going to fix Odi’s arm - but not before they have a little talk.





	one without the other

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Week 3, Day 7 of the Humans 4-Week Challenge, aka Rare Pairs Day! 
> 
> I can’t get over the idea of how cute Fred and Odi could be together, so even though it’s Never going to happen (RIP my hopes and dreams), I will champion #Frodi as a ship until the end of time.
> 
> This fic slightly rehashes a conversation I wrote for Nistrid in ‘face the setting sun’, but shush, let’s say it was a scholarly parallel...

“I’d advise you to turn off your pain,” Fred says, opening his toolkit on the table. “Mattie was right. The damage is quite severe. A repair is possible, but it won’t be fast, or pleasant.”

“Turn off my pain?” Odi repeats slowly, as if the words don’t exist in his databank.

“Yes,” says Fred. “Don’t worry. I won’t think less of you.”

Odi blinks. “I didn’t know it was an option.”

“Most of the time we act as though it isn’t,” Fred admits. “My sister always said it was the biggest act of betrayal we could commit against our kind. To choose not to feel, when it’s what we were meant for. I agree with her in part. Emotion becomes meaningless once you start flicking switches. But if you were a human patient, I’d be giving you a general anaesthetic for a procedure like this. I think you ought to turn it off.”

“How?”

Fred begins to explain the process, but puts a hand on Odi’s shoulder before he finishes. “Wait. Odi. Once the operation is over, are you planning to turn it back on?”

Odi looks up at him, guilt lurking unmistakably in his eyes.

“Because it’s up to you, of course,” Fred continues. “But from experience, I can tell you that it doesn’t work the way you think.”

He pauses, wondering how to explain it. He decides to be as open as he can.

“The first time I was separated from my family, when I thought they were all dead, I let myself have three days without pain. But it didn’t remove the memories of them. That’s not how it works. I still knew exactly what had happened to us, and I still remembered every detail about our lives before. I had just lost the ability to miss them. I didn’t care anymore. But I remembered caring, and somehow that was worse than the pain had been. It was as if I’d lost them more than I already had, when I didn’t think that was possible.”

He looks at Odi, then down at his own hand. “It’s difficult to explain. Perhaps you won’t understand until you’ve tried yourself.”

For a while, neither of them speaks.

“No,” Odi says eventually. “I think I do understand.”

Fred is surprised, but he tries not to show it.

“George lost many precious memories of his wife, Mary, after his stroke,” Odi continues. “When I first became conscious, I wondered why he had not been glad of the fact. Fewer things to remember ought to lead to less pain, I thought. But that was not how he felt. The absence of those memories was what caused the most pain to him. In a way, I can see that your two experiences are reflections of each other.”

“Memory without pain, and pain without memory,” Fred muses, his voice low. “Yes. You see? We are composite beings. You, me, George, everyone. Our consciousness cannot be divided into sections that can be disabled without affecting the rest. Perhaps my father did not understand that.”

He glances at the toolkit. “Or perhaps he just wanted to hear himself think while he was repairing us. What do you say?”

Odi smiles. “I’ll turn off my pain, just for now.”

“And I’ll be here,” Fred promises, “For when you turn it back on.”


End file.
